“I just want to make sure that you don’t get the wrong idea about us,” she said naked lying in the bed of a comic she had met a few hours before.
“What do you mean by the wrong idea?” He played along.
“I just don’t want you to think because we had sex that we are going to be more than friends. Actually, I have a boyfriend and I have to leave to go be with him.”
This was the neatest thing he had ever heard. Hours earlier, he had played a sold-out show at the Improv. Immediately after the show, the stunning blonde that had been in the front row approached him. They began talking, and then doing shots, and then as the bar was closed they spilled into the street lost in one of those two-sided make outs – amazing to be in the middle of, awful and annoying to have to witness.
“I can’t come over to your house…I just met you.”
She was sincere. He believed her. However, he didn’t remember asking her back to his place.
“I mean, I’m not really tired. Do you have any blow?”
She was a pro. He did not have any candy(in fact he’s never done it), but he knew that getting a hold of some, would help this evening go much smoother.
“My neighbor has some, want me to get it for you?”
“That would be incredible! I’m so adventurous when I am high. It makes me very sexual.”
She has done this before, he thought. Maybe even today. So he called his neighbor and his neighbor came through and she proceeded to do her best Scarface impression. This girl snorted like it was circa late 70’s Miami and, true to her word, she turned into a sexual machine. He was a good sized guy, but she threw him around like he was an unfortunate puppy. She kissed him hard. She bit his ear. I mean she ate his ear. Not really, just sounded funny.
She tore off his clothes and hers. She was loud. She was trained. She was bendy. He was pleased. This went on and off for a few hours. He doesn’t want you to get the impression that he is Sting, so to be clear it wasn’t one long experience, it was several short intense ones. Think of Ralph Machio’s journey through the tournament in Karate Kid except in this tourney he got beat down every round, and yet still won.
Thoughts went through his brain: That was fun, this girl is neat, comedy works out once in a while, in your face David Lee Roth! Then Los Angeles set in.
She began naked texting another dude from his bed. Picture this: Clothes everywhere, condom wrappers, beers, his dog with white powder on her nose, the scent of a hard fought soccer game in the air and WAIT A MINUTE! WHY IS THERE COCAINE ON MY DOG’S NOSE!!! OH JESUS! 911 911!
Guy: Hello, I need poison control.
911: Hold please….Hello Poison control
Guy: My dog just did cocaine.
911: Excuse me sir.
Guy:MY DOG JUST DID COCAINE!!!
911: We can help sir, but we are going to need your address.
Guy: Click.
His dog would run around in circles for a good two hours and he felt really bad. Almost bad enough to…no, not that bad. There was a naked high girl on his bed texting. He sat down next to her.
“Who are you texting?”
“My boyfriend,” she said with zero guilt. “That’s why I don’t want you to get the wrong impression about us. I want to be friends and is there anyway that you could drop me off at my boyfriend’s house?”
“Uggh…okay? Where does he live?”
“Malibu.”
“Absolutely not.”
She was unfazed. Okay, she (and He swears to this) sent a mass text that read: I am in the valley and this guy I am with is getting all weird. We screwed a while and he appears done, but I am not. If someone will give me a ride to Chase’s house in the ‘Bu, I will happily blow him.
This was a mass text. Moments later she got the reply she needed and she was dressed and gone.
He knew her first name and that he had pics for proof, but couldn’t help but think, if that was “friends” does Chase bang this girl with a saw? No matter- Just one more night in Hollywood and something tells him that his was not the weirdest of that particular evening.
He is just happy it’s over and that he is not Chase. However, I am I am I am pretty glad to be J Chris Newberg.
J Chris Newberg is a comic, actor, producer, song writer, and author living in Los Angeles and occasionally Detroit with his loyal and aging Cocker Spaniel, Flower. You can find him at jchrisnewberg.com, myspace.com/jchrisnewberg, or just google him because you know you want to. His column runs every Thursday.
